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Tests of Conviction
category:Classic OtherSpace Logs Bartholomew Ritter makes a controversial decision to declare monarchy on La Terre and brings his fledgling world to the brink of revolution… Malibu Way The white sandy beaches seem to stretch on for miles either way. An oldstyled wooden 'boardwalk' connects the various tourist attractions along the beach area. Streaching high into the sky is the new Hot Sands hotel with its many accomidations. Down along the board walk a bit more is the High Rollers Casino and the Bluenose Bar and grill designed to look like old native hut buildings. Nils-Finch strides down the street, scowling, making his way toward the government building. Coltrane enters, dressed in full battle gear and trailed by four marines dressed likewise. He looks about shiftily, almost begging for some open disturbance. Zetral gives a little shrug. He is sitting on a bench, close to Volaustrae. "Well.. There's the Seaside Condos.. but those are a bit expensive..." Falkona moves toward the boulevard, trailed by a 7-10 man group of young marines. She does not appear happy. Nils-Finch sees the soldiers and stops, cupping his hands on either side of his mouth. "Hey! Fascists! Wait just one second!" Falkona stops, blinking, frown deepening. She turns toward the apparant protestor, steadying her shoulder-slung rifle with one hand. "You tha!'" she calls angrily, moving toward Nils. Nils-Finch begins to walk toward Falkona, unarmed, eyes glinting angrily. "I look like a threat to your lord's precious kingdom!?" Coltrane stops, watches Nils carefully. He turns, nods at his marines. They head towards Falkona's squad. Volaustrae winces at the call behind her, her aura well and truly blue now. One fluid gesture and she's standing, her fingers on his arm urging Zetral up as well. "Seaside condos. They're comfortable, Darling?" Falkona shakes her head, smiling slightly. "No, sa', you do not. You look like a distu'bance to the smooth running of the Allied Conso'tium's capital, La Terre. If you do not cease you'a activities, you will be apprehended," she answers, a rather long-winded speech, which she does not seem enthusiastic about. Zetral follows Volaustrae up, frowning slightly over at the disturbance. "Quite.. But we'd best hurry.." He moves quickly towards the Marina. Nils-Finch gestures expansively with his hands, stopping about 10 feet from Falkona and her brigade. "Sorry that the common people are saying something His Holy High Falutiness doesn't like, but he can damn well get over it. You take me into custody, I can't control my followers - and they are damned mad, lady. So...I offer a compromise." Zetral heads into Marina. Zetral has left. Volaustrae heads into Marina. Volaustrae has left. Falkona tilts her head slightly, lowering her rifle slightly. "I'm listening," she mumbles softly. "Speak." Coltrane holds up a hand, his squad halts about twenty feet from Nils. He keyes a channel into his commlink, speaks into the microphone. Probably at Falkona. Falkona turns on her commlink. Nils-Finch nods curtly. "The 'king' meets with myself and one other. If he can convince us that this is the wisest course of action...we will call off the revolt. But...if he continues with this vindictive, snotty, you-owe-me crap, we *will* see this city burn." Coltrane stands some twenty feet from Nils and Falkona, watching. Four marines stand behind him. Nils-Finch is currently unarmed, facing Falkona and her armed squad. Rice comes walking up the street, headed for Nils. Falkona smiles slightly, "Well, it's good to see that at least one side of this a'gument has the decency to talk it out fi'st... befo'a kicking people offworld." She shrugs lightly, putting her helmet on just enough to keep it on without covering her face. She holds her hand out toward Nils slowly, "I'll speak to the Sovereign on you'a half pe'sonallay. And I assu'e you, I will have this meeting set up. For peace sake." Rice comes to a slight jog, "Hey, Nils, whassup man?" Nils-Finch seems surprised by the soldier's compliance, and his brow wrinkles as he searches for the catch. Then, finally, he just nods and says, "All right. I'll hold you to that." He turns toward Rice. "Ah, boy - you get the hydroponics set on automatic for now?" Rice nods, "Yeah, I set the carrots for a sporadic cycle and the lettuce for an occasional spritz, the corn's running on constant bio nutrient. They should be ok. What's goin' on?" Coltrane shrugs. No shooting today. He continues on his patrol route. Nils-Finch jerks a thumb toward Falkona. "A soldier with sense, it seems. She's gonna arrange a meeting with His Snootiness. Just you and me." Falkona nods slightly, shrugging and lowering her hand, not the slightest bit surprised by the man's surprise. She turns toward her men, tilting her head. "Right... you fou'a... I want this man he'e protected, you got me? L'e'ftenant, take the rest of these men and be sure no one gets hu't in this revolt. I'll speak to the Sov'reign." Rice says, "All right, about time. Hey, you mean /Governor/, he isn't gonna be Sovereign until we get our say in it!" Nils-Finch raises a palm to Rice. "Boy - she's not necessarily on our side, but she ain't against it either, if you get my drift. Pick your fights." Coltrane heads into Blades Blvd. Coltrane has left. Falkona turns back toward the two protestors, orders given. "Now... I trust you two will not cause ana trouble befo'a tha meet'n'?" She returns to a blank, neutral look and points out, "I cannot publicly suppo't you'a cause, but I believe that if you believe you have been wronged, you should have you'a chance to right it." She nods politely, turning toward the Country Road, and walking that way slowly. Rice nods, his youthful fire quite evident. Nils-Finch nods to Falkona, then looks back to Rice. His eyes inevitably drift to the tavern. "Got nuthin better to do." Rice says, "I could go for a drink myself." Falkona heads into Country Road. Falkona has left. Nils-Finch nods, then turns and walks toward the tavern. Bluenose Bar and Grille The Blue Nose is arguably the most popular place on the entire boardwalk. Although looking more like an officer's mess than a bar, the Blue Nose is always packed with dozens of New Paris denizens partaking in numerous night-life activities. Along one wall runs a bar made of a black metal with a diamond mesh and a cherrywood top. Behind the bar stands the bartender and his assistants as well as neon shelves of varying heights bearing all sorts of alcoholic and unfermented beverages. Opposite the bar is an open kitchen with an enormous open flame grill, and the cooks work with such flourish that their cooking is known as one of the many attractions. Between the bar and kitchen, centered on the wall opposite the entrance, is a well lit, elevated stage which stands just ahead of a large square dance floor. Positioned around the dance floor between the food preparation areas are various places to sit. Rice arrives from Malibu Way. Rice has arrived. Rice says, "I can't believe that guy, having the gall to declare himself absolute ruler. I'd like to take his crown and shove it up his ass." Nils-Finch nods, sighing, rubbing his forehead and making his way to the bar. He settles onto one of the stools and says, "Ya know, I cared a lot less when he was just claiming sovereignhood until he opened his broad yaphole and started calling me ungrateful." Rice says, "Yeah, we've been the ones doing all the work! Then he wants to get all the glory?" Rice swings up onto a stool, pulling out a herb cigarette and lighting it up. Nils-Finch nods, chuckling. "He *bought* the materials, but who built the damned place? HIM!? Bloody hell!" Rice takes a long draw and blows out the smoke. "Damn straight. I've been suspecting all those lackeys around him were up to something. Then WHAM, we're in a damn fiefdom! The Consortium's been a democracy since day one, even after the Kretonians! And then this guy, he's not even FROM the Consortium! He was on Sanc, and then he thinks he can take over?" He takes another draw. Nils-Finch nods. "I tell ya what, kid. Even at its worst, we always had choices in the Consortium. Didn't like the President? Pressure him out. What do you do about a *king*!?" Rice takes a long draw and blows a few smoke rings. "The French had the right idea. Lop off their damn heads." Nils-Finch shakes his head, sighing. "Eh, I dunno, kid. Might feel good for a minute...but I prefer to *threaten* the bad stuff rather than really doing it. The thrill...I'm guessing it wears off." Rice nods in reluctant agreement, and sighs. "Well, what's the plan, Nils? We've got our meeting. I know thing, if this guy expects me to cow-tow to him he can kiss my ass. He's Governor until I say so." Nils-Finch waves the bar over and orders beers for himself and Rice, then says, "We don't grovel. *He* grovels. He tells me how the people are gonna get their voices heard." Rice says, "Pitchforks and torches in the street, that's how." The bartender comes back with the beers, eyeing the men and speaking in low tones, so as not to be overheard by the soliders lurking at various tables. "Ya might watch yerselves round here, lads. The Little Deafs don't like this revolutionary talk." Rice takes a swig of his beer, and speaks in a low tone as well. "Hell, they can kiss my ass as well. They're just as brainwashed as all the rest of Ritter's stooges." Nils-Finch snaps a sharp look at Rice. "Boy, don't get yourself pistol-whipped before we even get a chance to end this peacefully." Rice sighs and nods, taking another swig. "Allright...but for you, Nils. You know how I feel about crap like this." Nils-Finch nods. "I know." He drinks from his mug, then says, "I didn't come here looking for a king." Rice nods. "I came here looking for a fresh start. When Earth went to the wayside, this looked awful lucrative. Last I knew, Earth stood for freedom. Kings haven't been around since the Dark Ages, I sure as hell don't want one now, ya know?" Nils-Finch frowns, nodding. "Mars is looking better and better." Rice nods. "Yeah, at least they have some level-headed people running the place. That Ellesmere seems to have a cool head on him." Rice takes another long swig. Nils-Finch shrugs. "Eh. Maybe the outback on Mars. I hear that place is rugged, waiting to be tamed. Guys like you and me - we'd fit right on in." Rice says, "Yeah...still a lot of virgin territory there to be won. Still, it's the principle of the thing, Nils. This just plain stinks of a humongous ego of our 'fearless' leader." Nils-Finch nods. "Well...he don't go along with us, then he don't go along. Me, I can keep my piece and go my merry way. But the others? Damn, son, the others..." Rice says, "There's a lot of people here who just can't relocate, Nils. We can't let them suffer like this. We've GOT to do something...let's hope talk is all we need." Nils-Finch takes another drink of beer, then shrugs. "Talk woulda been great before he called himself king. That's the most galling part!" Rice picks up his cigarette and takes a long draw, finishing it off. He snuffs out the butt in an ashtray and takes a drink. "Amen there, Nils. He's got some nerve thinking he can take away our rights and our freedoms without getting our say on whether we want it or not." Nils-Finch nods. He looks at his rapidly emptying mug. Then he pokes around in his pockets for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Rice says, "I'm not going to call him 'highness' unless he's earned it. As far as I'm concerned, he's currently lowest of the low." Nils-Finch smiles slightly, tucking a cigarette in his mouth. He lights it, then snaps the lighter shut, pokes the lighter back into his pants. He puffs on the cigarette. "Hey," he ventures, smiling thinly, "maybe he just had a bad roll in the hay." Rice lets out a long chuckle and finishes off his beer. "Maybe he's not getting any at all. Could be why he's so uptight." Nils-Finch nods. "Could be." He smirks. "That, or constipation. Don't matter if you're a peasant or a king, sometimes the works get bunged up." Rice grins. "Hey, that's it, get him some Pepto Bismol and he'll be a happy camper." Nils-Finch blinks. "Peptawhazzit?" Rice says, "Some old Earth concoction I read about." Nils-Finch ahs. "Well, whatever it takes, we need to get that man set straight." Rice shakes his head. "It'll take a hover-roller to straighten that guy out. He's a crooked as a creek." Nils-Finch smirks. "That's what it takes, then, I guess. Hell, maybe I'm foolin' myself, thinkin' he'll give me an ear." Rice says, "I dunno, Nils. If you think about it, it's too easy. Get us in that room, take us out, make up some phony story, slide into the throne." Nils-Finch blinks. "Son, you're right..." He glances toward Rice. "We need us a reporter." Rice pulls out another herb cigarette and his lighter, snapping it shut after lighting up. "We'll need a good one, maybe off planet." Nils-Finch nods. "Sanctuary...I hear that place is a magnet for liberal freedom lovers." Rice takes a draw on his cigarette. "Yeah, they're crawling all over that place, and they're a haven for reporters. How are we going to contact one of them?" Nils-Finch shrugs, then looks toward Rice. "Go there. I'll stall the king and the others for a while." Rice nods. "I'll do my best to snag one." Nils-Finch nods, dragging on his cigarette. "Good lad." Nils-Finch glances toward the bartender. "Put his drink on my tab." Rice takes another long drag on his cigarette, knocking off half of it with one draw. Rice says, "I'll keep in touch, Nils. Stall em as best you can, and I'll get us a reporter." Nils-Finch nods. "Good lad." Rice takes another long draw on his cigarette, which finishes it up. He snuffs it out, and stands up. "Good luck, Nils." Nils-Finch smiles sadly. "Gonna need it, I think. Be well." Rice heads out. A few minutes later, loud voices can be heard outside. Nils-Finch goes to investigate… Malibu Way The white sandy beaches seem to stretch on for miles either way. An oldstyled wooden 'boardwalk' connects the various tourist attractions along the beach area. Streaching high into the sky is the new Hot Sands hotel with its many accomidations. Down along the board walk a bit more is the High Rollers Casino and the Bluenose Bar and grill designed to look like old native hut buildings." Nils-Finch wanders out of the tavern, beer in hand. Falkona is standing before Zetral and his heavily armed men, arguing. Rice is watching Zetral and Falkona face off. The men tense once more. Zetral gives another small wave, and says, "I have a duty to His Majesty. And the protestors disrupted the peace by existing." Falkona answers, voice raising, "These protesta's a'e a'guing for what they believe in. You'a doing the same thing. Should I persecute you?" Rice whispers, "I dunno Nils, it looks like talking isn't going to work." Nils-Finch frowns, knitting his brow. He nods to Rice, then looks toward the confrontation. "Excuse me, friends." Rice follows along behind Nils, still watching. Zetral replies quickly, "No. I am protecting my men, trying to keep them safe. The protestor's wouldn't have to worry about their safety if they weren't committing treason." He turns to the man. "Yes?" Rice mumbles something to the effect of 'treason my ass'. Nils-Finch approaches slowly, hands out, showing he is unarmed. "Sir...we have the protestors under control, for now. All we ask is a meetin' with the so-called Sovreign. He satisfies us, we'll call our people off." Falkona waits quietly, eyes bouncing between the two. Coltrane looks at his watch, sighs. He's got a patrol to walk. he motions towards his men and, reluctantly, they leave the exchange towards Blades Boulevard. Coltrane heads into Blades Blvd. Coltrane has left. Zetral looks the man over carefully. "I will have my men remove their armor on three conditions. 1) You must garantee that /no/ harm will come to them. 2) They will not head onto the Country Road leading to Doctor Ritter's Ranch. And 3) If they violate any of the conditions, /you/ will stand trial for high treason. And plead guilty." Nils-Finch favors Zetral with his own appraising glance. "Friend, all hostilities on our part are on hold until we meet with the Governor. Till then - you have a deal. But if the Governor doesn't appease us...I can make no guarantees." Rice nods in agreement. Zetral nods very slowly. "I am no friend of yours. But, if the Sovergein agrees to such a meeting, we have a deal.. And if voilence is started.... Things will get messy. People will go to die. And the streets will run red with the blood of both sides." Nils-Finch shrugs. "No arguments there." Zetral gives a quick nod, then says, in a lighter tone, "Out of curiosity, what will it take to appease you?" Falkona mumbles something under her breath. She turns toward Zetral. Saying to him, and into her commlink, "Disa'm your men. Now." Falkona says into her commlink, "Disa'm your men. Now." Nils-Finch shakes his head slowly. "That's not a debate for you and me, soldier. That's for me and the Governor." Nils-Finch looks toward Rice. "Go get that reporter, lad." Rice snaps a mock salute, "Aye Aye, Cap'n" He then skitters off. Rice heads into Blades Blvd. Rice has left. Zetral says, quickly, "Sovereign." He then turns to his troops. "Alright, troops. Go home, trade your Combat armor for any other armor you have. Pistols, daggers, and non lethals. Persuader gloves if ya got 'em. However.. If you see a single protestor on the country road, Find this man and lock him up. And get rid of the key." The troops head back for the Condos. Nils-Finch clenches his jaw, but holds his tongue, eyes glaring at Zetral. Old Beggar arrives from Blades Blvd. Old Beggar has arrived. Zetral turns back to Finch. "You have something to say?" Falkona nods once toward Zetral. "If you arrest him, Maja', without good cause, I'll see that you join 'im." Old Beggar comes hobbling along the street, leaning heavily on his cane, and holding out a tin cup. "Alms for poor?" comes a wavery Timonae accent. Nils-Finch shakes his head at Zetral. "My quarrel's not with you, soldier. Told you that. Don't make it my quarrel." His eyes then drift toward the beggar, and his gaze softens. "Sir...how do you come to be impoverished on a world with plenty enough for a king?" Old Beggar tilts his head to one side, regarding Nils-Finch hopefully as his silver beard sways a bit. The thin wavery voice replies. "I come here on shuttle from homeworld. I am old, and have no pension. Labor all my days show people mountain trails. Now too old show way not see as well nor climb as sure." Zetral turns to Falkona. "The Sovergein gave me authority when he instituted Martial Law. And this is the leader of the group. If the protestors get onto that road," He points at the Country Road, "He will be the head of a Conspiracy to Assassinate the Monarch." Nils-Finch looks at the poor old man, then at the beer in his hand, and for a moment he seems to measure the hardships in his life. He begins to dig into his pocket. "Come on, old sir. I can spare a cred or two." Old Beggar bobs his head, and steps closer, smiling a gap-toothed smile. "Lady Fate bless you thousand times good man." He bangs his cane on the road in affirmation, then leans on it heavily as he extends his tin cup. Nils-Finch gives Old Beggar 10 Credits. Falkona frowns slightly, "Maja'... You and I a'e going to have a talk. Now." She gestures toward the marina. Zetral nods, and heads along beside Falkona, slowly. Falkona heads into Marina. Falkona has left. Zetral heads into Marina. Zetral has left. Old Beggar bobs his head again respectfully, causing his beard to shimmy. "Lady Fate bless you." Nils-Finch hands over some credits to the old beggar. "There you go, old sir. See to yourself. Be well." Old Beggar bobs his head in a doddering way, and resumes the slow tap of his cane as he starts past the young man. A scraping sound heralds the sudden shift of the cane tip on a loose rock or some such, and the old man falls, throwing his hands up to grasp hold of Nils-Finch in an attempt to save himself from hitting the ground. Nils-Finch puts his hands on the old man to help steady him. "Careful there, sir. You okay?" Nils-Finch doesn't notice his pocket has been filched, exactly. Just that he's been shoved upon by the old man. Old Beggar bobs his head, beard shimering as it moves. "Lady Fate bless you. I fine." He turns in a circle hunching over to look at the ground. "Have seen cane where fall?" He speaks with a thin wavery voice and a Timonae accent. Strider exits the Blue Nose. Upon doing so, he resumes the role of his duty and begins patrolling the area. Nils-Finch knits his brow, looking around. "Your cane? No, old son, don't think I see it." Old Beggar makes a circle around Nils-Finch, and finally spots the errant wooden cane on the ground. "Ahh..there cane. Now reach." Laboriously, with much groaning and wheezing, the elderly Timonae catches hold of his cane, and uses it to lever himself up. "Cup...Where cup?" inquires the thin wavery voice. Nils-Finch scratches the back of his head, glancing around. Nils-Finch sees the cup over next to the tavern wall. He walks over, kneels and picks it up. He also picks up the credits that have spilled from it, and plinks them back in. Strider notes the Timonae dressed in all black and Nils. Wondering if something may be going on, he makes his way over to the two. Old Beggar looks around the area, then over to Nils, smiling a gap-toothed smile. "Ah...you find cup. Lady Luck bless you." He taps slowly over, leaning on his cane, and holds out his hand to take the cup. Nils-Finch gets to his feet and hands the cup to the old man. "There you go. Be careful, now." Strider stops behind Nils, watching the scene for a few seconds before finally deciding to inquire. "How are you two doing?" Before giving either one of them any time to answer, he says, "Anything going on?" Nils-Finch glances toward Strider, then shrugs. "Besides a revolution - no. This old man bumped into me, nothing more." Old Beggar turns laboriously to look at Strider, and bobs his head in agreement with Nils, silver beard shimmying. "I fall. Good man help. Lady Luck bless you both." Then the old Timonae turns back around with the same hobbling gait, and heads on his way. Strider nods to Nils a few times, then looks to the beggar. Noticing the cup in his hands, he shakes his head slightly before yelling towards him, "You know, begging really isn't considered to be too lawful here on La Terre." Old Beggar calls something back, but his thin voice just doesn't carry very far as he heads into the Blvd. Old Beggar heads into Blades Blvd. Old Beggar has left. Nils-Finch chuckles slightly, watching the old man go. "Poor old fellow." Strider raises an eyebrow slightly, then turns to Nils, a slight grin on his face as he says, "You say he bumped into you, eh? Do yourself a favor and check your currency" Nils-Finch raises his eyebrows, apparently surprised at the prospect that he might have been robbed. He checks. Nils-Finch blinks. "I..." He glances toward Blades Boulevard. "He took 100 credits!" Strider nods slightly. "My friend, you've been had. I got a pretty good look at him though and will put his description out there. Didn't look like he was the most nimble being. Shouldn't be too hard to track down. Your credits may be gone by then, but we'll catch him and get you some form of retribution." As he finishes his statement, he takes a DataPadd from his jacket pocket and beings pressing its keys. Nils-Finch nods, rubbing his forehead. "Thank you, Officer. Need to find me, the name is Martin Nils-Finch. I run a hydroponics farm on the outskirts." Eirlys arrives from Country Road. Eirlys has arrived. Strider nods a few times, then says, "I'll look for him now. Would've darted right after him but really had no reason to. An officer harrassing an old beggar really doesn't raise the populous' attitude towards the PD. I'll contact you as soon as hes in custody. Any questions, ask for me, *Sheriff* Dash Strider" Nils-Finch nods, watching the officer go. Strider heads into Blades Blvd. Strider has left. Eirlys steps out from the country road, a sad look on face. She glances around the street, at the now unarmed soldiers enforcing the martial law. She sighs softly and shakes her head, mindlessly moving about the Way. Nils-Finch scratches his cheek, frowning after the sheriff. His eyes stop for a moment on the girl. Then, he shakes his head and starts to walk down the road. "Helluva day." Eirlys glances around the boardwalk. She moves toward the rail, watching the water. She sets a book on the rail and opens it to a marked page. The book is black, leather bound and the mark is many colors and looks expensive. She silently begins reading, murmuring the words aloud as she goes. She does not seem to speak Standard, but it is definitely not any other popular dialect. Nils-Finch stops as he hears the reading. He turns to look at the girl. "What is that?" Eirlys stops reading. She turns toward Nils slowly, her hands out, as if she were surrendering to an armed invader. When she sees that it's just an unarmed civilian, she lowers her hands. She answers, her voice soft and slow, "It's a Bible." She wears a slightly fearful expression. Nils-Finch blinks. "A Bible? Really? Earth?" Eirlys nods once. "Uh-huh," she answers. "Roman Catholic... and it's written in the original Latin." She tilts her head slightly. Nils-Finch smiles slightly. "Which part are you reading?" Eirlys answers, "Old Testament... Book of Job." Seeing the smile, she does as well. She reveals perfectly straight, pearly white teeth from behind her thin lips and small mouth. Nils-Finch chuckles. "Oddly fitting, I think." He rubs his forehead. "Keep out of the way if things go bad, a'right, girl?" Eirlys seems to evade the question by asking, "Who are you? Are you a prostestor?" Nils-Finch nods slowly. "One of 'em, yeah." Eirlys answers simply, "Do you have a name?" Nils-Finch smiles. "Martin Nils-Finch." Eirlys nods once. She answers, reaching back and closing her book, bringing it to rest in front of her, "I am Princess Eirlys Ritter." She pauses, as if wondering if an angry mob will suddenly beat her down with sticks. "Might I enquire the reason for this reform? Surely you don't intend to destroy the lands you are fighting for because of one stubborn fool," she speaks, her voice still coming soft and slow. Nils-Finch blinks. "Eirlys...Ritter?" He shakes his head, sighing. "Helluva day." His eyes drift toward the still-growing city. "Girl, I don't intend to destroy anything if I can help it. But your father...excuse me for saying so, but he'd claim credit for the very sky above! His money might have bought New Paris, but..." he holds up his callused hands "these hands built it! He forgets that." Eirlys continues, "So, what are your demands then?" Nils-Finch frowns. "Some answers. Some explanations. And a voice." Eirlys hrms softly, "To receive answers, one must pose a question." Nils-Finch nods. "Yes, and I have plenty. For him." Eirlys replies, "This is the kind of stubbornness you are fighting against. Please..." Nils-Finch shakes his head, raising his hand. "Girl, I save my speechifying for the man who needs to hear it. I'm sorry." He looks down the road, then back to Eirlys. "If your father has any reason left in his head, then we will get past this. But, for now, my family needs me. My farm needs me. Goodbye." He turns and begins to walk off. Eirlys chimes after the man, "If you cannot put faith in those chosen by God to represent Him... May He have mercy on you..." She stands there, watching him. Nils-Finch clenches his jaw, but keeps on walking, disappearing down the road.